Mirror, Mirror

by Robb, J. D.

  “I see. I did wonder, sir, how it was that a member of the family could have rooms so far from the rest.”

  “My choice, and the gift of an understanding mother and a frustrated father.” He shook his head with a fond smile, rubbed his leg and went on. “Which is why I bought my commission. Thinking that was my ‘out of the ordinary’ path in life. But no, whatever I am meant to do has not appeared yet, and when it does I want to be open to it. Which, Sergeant Tresbere, is a very roundabout way of saying that I am open to all manner of nature’s oddities. Do you see?”

  “Yes, indeed, sir.”

  The major picked up his walking stick and tapped it on the floor. “But your skills are best suited to military life, are they not?”

  “Major, that has been decided for me.” Jack spoke with finality and the major nodded. “I think the frontier of Canada will have need of healing as much as any battlefield even if the Indian savages are largely defeated.”

  Jack stood up. This baring of the souls was as exhausting as any healing he had ever done. “I will leave the army when you do. That is decided. Where and when I go next is still unknown. If I go alone is even more uncertain.” For a moment he considered asking the major if he thought a woman could deal with his gift without calling him a devil but decided he had poured out enough of his thoughts for one day. That worry was not the highest on this list anyway. “For now my biggest challenge is finding a way to talk to a lady without offending her.”

  The major had suggested that all he had to do was ask questions, any questions, and a woman would be only too happy to prose on about herself, her life, her family.

  He’d failed to mention that she would ask questions herself, and that sort of conversation was far more intimate than an hour with a prostitute.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Within a fortnight the earl came up from London, the return of his son and the summer weather making a country sojourn irresistible. The castle came alive when he was in residence, not only because Earl Craigson was the master of the place but at least as much because of his charm and enthusiasm for every pleasure life had to offer.

  The number of guests that came and went was endless, keeping everyone on the staff busy from morning until night and sometimes far into it. The major’s recovery continued and he and the sergeant were off on their horses most mornings.

  Martha would see them now and again but even in the two quiet weeks before the earl had arrived she and the sergeant had not seen each other.

  Except for that one time.

  Martha was putting the major’s bedchamber, sitting room, and dressing room to rights as was her usual chore.

  The dressing room where the sergeant slept smelled of the sergeant’s pipe and she went to the window, and knelt on the bed, so she could reach over and open the window in order to air the room.

  She loved the way the scent echoed in the room but knew that Mrs. Belweather preferred no more than the scent of flowers.

  Just as it occurred to her that someday she must try this bed, she heard voices in the other room.

  “Oh, Sergeant Tresbere!” It was a woman’s voice, one of the other maids, Martha was sure. “I thought you were out with the major. I do beg your pardon.”

  As she slid off the cot, Martha recognized the voice of Sally Lipton, the senior housemaid. What was she doing here? Her duties kept her in the earl’s wing.

  “That’s quite all right, Miss Lipton. I only came to collect my hat. The sun is blinding today.”

  “I think we are well met, Sergeant. I have been hoping to find a moment or two to talk with you.”

  Martha heard the change in Sally’s tone and blushed for her. The flirt!

  Martha was staring at the sergeant’s broad-brimmed hat, resting on the top of a shaving stand. How embarrassing to be caught listening in on this conversation. She wondered if she could make it into the clothespress before the sergeant came into the room.

  “How can I be of service, Miss Lipton?”

  Martha could hear the stiffness in the sergeant’s voice and wondered if Sally would accept the rebuff or press on.

  “Oh,” she said, and Martha could picture her moving closer to him. “Oh, Sergeant, I think you could make me a very happy woman.”

  No. No. No, Martha wanted to shout at Sally. Leave the man alone. She fingered the coin in her pocket. I wish someone would interrupt them right now. She waited a moment but no one came. It is up to me, she decided. With a spurt of action she gathered her basket of cleaning supplies. Humming as loud as she could, Martha opened the door and stepped into the bedchamber as though she had no idea the room was occupied.

  The sergeant turned to her, his expression so incensed that she wondered if he thought she was part of this game.

  “Sally! Were you looking for me? I’m sorry to be so long.” She offered no excuse for her supposed tardiness but moved toward the door. “Good day to you, Sergeant Tresbere.”

  Sally had no choice but to follow her. When they were out in the passage, the sergeant called after them. “Miss Stepp. A word with you.”

  For a sergeant he was very good at giving commands.

  “Wait for me here, will you, Sally?” she asked as she walked back to where he waited.

  Sally nodded, all curiosity.

  He had his hat in his hand and he worried the brim for a moment. “I do not know why the beds in this suite so fascinate you.”

  Holy mother, she’d forgotten to straighten the bedding! “I was only—”

  He cut off her explanation with a raised hand. “If I ever find you in, or under, any bed again, I will take steps to convince you to give up that hobby.”

  Steps? Exactly what did he mean by that? she wondered. But his obvious anger was so unusual that she thought now was not the time for debate. “I’m sorry, Sergeant.”

  “I’m sure you are. But only sorry to have been discovered.”

  “It is a perfectly innocent hobby, sir.” She could not resist the defense. “As Sally said, we thought you out with the major.”

  “Ah, yes.” He put his hat down and shook his head. “Tell me, Martha, why is every woman here so hell-bent on marriage?”

  Hell-bent? Did he think she was trying to trap him?

  “I do not have marriage on my mind.” Anger simmered to a boil. “I have a position here and the respect of my peers.”

  “Martha, listen to me.”

  Now she raised her hand to stop his words.

  “If I was interested in marriage with any man I would expect a proper courtship and a proper proposal.”

  “Martha,” he began, again.

  “And I would not marry you if you were the last man on earth.” Martha turned her back to him not wanting him to see the tears that filled her eyes and began to stream uncontrollably down her cheeks.

  As she made her way to the passage she called back, “Wanda is right. All men are idiots.”

  Sally heard the last phrase, her expression switching from curiosity to awe.

  The sergeant swept by them and down the passage at something close to a run as she whispered to Sally between her tearful gasps, “If you dare say a word about this I will tell them about your oh-so-bold offer to the sergeant.”

  Sally nodded and the two of them went down the back stairs to the kitchen, where Martha made a detour out to the garden to compose herself.

  Later that evening she walked down to Ellen and John’s cottage where she unburdened herself. It was a huge relief to have someone else express indignation at his arrogance even if it was support she only partly deserved. That’s what friends were for, were they not?

  Over a mug of ale the three of them sat in the front room of the two-room cottage, with the door open to the evening air. It was John who put an end to his wife’s rant about how rude men could be.

  “I think his question was sincerely meant, Martha. I know he thinks of you as a friend.”

  “He does?” She wanted to ask John what men meant when they thought of a woman a
s a friend, but John did no more than nod in answer to her question and speak on.

  “The sergeant has been importuned a good bit lately. We were walking back from town together just yesterday and he asked me if all women were as bold as the women hereabouts.”

  Martha and Mary looked at each other and nodded encouragement.

  “It seems that any number of the women from the village and the girls on the staff here at the castle have been inviting his attention.”

  “So you are saying he could have his pick of company but has no use for any of us.”

  Was she at fault? Martha did not think she had been particularly forward. Indeed, she had been almost shy around him since that night of the major’s welcome-home ball, but now she could see how he had misconstrued his mussed bed. “But I wasn’t flirting! I had only kneeled on his bed to open the window.”

  “Yes, but he is overly sensitive right now and he is not used to virtuous women and has no idea what their flirtation means.”

  “So you instructed him?” his wife asked with raised eyebrows.

  John took her hand, kissed it, and held it tight. “I told him not to trifle with any of the servants and to go to the Cog and Crown if he was wanting more than flirtation.”

  Martha and Ellen exchanged another glance, this one of complete understanding. For her part Martha wondered if the sergeant ever did venture to that den of iniquity.

  John offered to walk Martha back to the castle but she waved off the suggestion that she needed protection. Both John and Ellen watched until she was out of sight.

  Just then the major appeared along a path that met the same lane she was turning onto. The dogs ran ahead and then back to greet Martha.

  “Took the dogs out for a walk,” he explained. “Good for the leg, don’t you see.”

  “Yes, sir, I can see that you are much improved already. No more stick and almost no limp.”

  “Feels good and right to be whole again.”

  “I’m sure it does, Major.”

  Midge, the big dog, nudged her hand and she pulled it out of her apron pocket to give him some of the attention he craved. The coin fell to the ground.

  She would have not missed it at all, but it was the major who called her attention to it, and gentleman that he was, bent to retrieve it for her.

  “Unusual coin that,” he said. “Do you carry it for luck?”

  “Not really,” she said with honesty induced by the night and moon. “It’s a coin from a shipment that was lost at sea more than fifteen years ago in the early eighteen hundreds. Some say it has magical properties, but it’s never granted any of my wishes.”

  The major laughed. “Perhaps the coin is waiting for you to wish for the right thing.”

  Martha stopped short and looked at the major. “Why did you say that?”

  “It’s the way of magic,” he explained with a matter-of-fact air that belied the word magic. “It’s as whimsical as any of nature’s oddities.”

  They walked on in silence as Martha puzzled over what the major could know of nature’s oddities. When they reached the side door that everyone used when coming from the grounds to the west, the major opened the door for her.

  “Does your silence mean you are wondering if I suffered a brain injury when my face was scarred?”

  “No, not at all, Major. It is only that too few people are willing to accept them. Nature’s oddities, that is.”

  “Ah, yes.” He examined the coin as well as one could in the dim candlelight of the passageway. “Does this one grant wishes?”

  “I have seen it do so,” Martha answered with caution and prayed to the God who might or might not be listening that such honesty would not mean her dismissal.

  The major was still holding on to the coin as he made his way to the stairs that led to the wing where his rooms were situated. Martha followed.

  When they reached his floor he held the coin up but instead of handing it back to her he said, “Do I speak the wish aloud or merely think it?”

  “Whichever you prefer, Major. I must warn you that the coin grants wishes in its own sometimes rather odd way.”

  The major considered that caveat and then straightened. “Very well then, I will trust in the coin’s wisdom.”

  Oh, Martha thought, she had never considered that the coin’s wisdom would exceed a person’s. They walked to his suite in silence. At the door, he turned to her and with the coin held between them announced, “My wish is that I find work that will be fulfilling for as long as I live.”

  Martha reached for the coin, but before she could take it, such a bright light burst from the coin that she gasped and the major stepped back, though he did not release it.

  “I do believe your wish will be granted, Major.” Martha’s awe was evident she was sure.

  The major nodded. “I’ve always known that, but the question is, when will it be granted? There’s the rub.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Martha did not notice the coin was missing until just before noon. It was not in her pocket. For the first time in years it was not where it always was, no matter how she tried to rid herself of it. And now without the slightest effort it was gone.

  She was so overcome that she fell into the nearest chair, this one a wingback near a fireplace, which she knew from past experience was not nearly as comfortable as it appeared. Twisting the dusting cloth in her hand, she tried to recall the last time she had held it, seen it, or felt its presence.

  Last night when the major had wished on it.

  She would go to his suite now to see if somehow she had left it behind. The figurines she had been sent to dust were too fragile and valuable to do while so distracted.

  Moving at a purposeful pace, so no one would suspect that she was shirking her duties, Martha made her way up a flight and halfway around the castle. She was making the last turn when she ran into the sergeant, quite literally.

  She had been lost in thought, wondering what the missing coin could mean, but the sergeant must have had some idea of the pending collision as he had his arms out to stop the impact.

  Enfolded in his arms, her head tucked under his chin, she could feel his heart gallop, or maybe it was hers.

  “I’m sorry. I do beg your pardon,” she blustered as she stumbled back, necessitating a helping hand from the sergeant yet again. They were not on the best of terms ever since he had accused her of attempting to entrap him, and she hoped this did not further convince him of something else awful about her.

  “I was on my way to speak with the major and was not watching where I was going.”

  The sergeant nodded but said nothing, and Martha went on in a rush.

  “Is he still in his suite or has he gone out for the day? I need only speak with him for a moment. You see, we had a conversation yesterday evening—”

  Before she could finish her sentence the sergeant held up the coin. “Is this what you are looking for?”

  “Yes,” Martha said on a great breath of relief. How odd that she had wanted nothing but to be rid of it but was almost panicked at the thought of it missing.

  “The major asked me to bring it back to you.” He handed it to her and she slipped it into her pocket. The sergeant did not say another word but turned on his heel.

  “I did not leave it there on purpose. I didn’t,” Martha insisted.

  The sergeant turned back slowly. “But of course you didn’t.”

  “Oh!” Martha stamped her foot. “Are you doubting my word?”

  He said nothing, but stood with his arms folded across his chest as though blocking her way when all she had to do was turn around and leave.

  She did so, and over her shoulder tossed her final shot. “You are impossible.”

  “Impossible to trick, you mean?” He seemed amused by her temper.

  “No, that is not what I mean.” She turned to face him again, her own arms folded, unconsciously imitating him. “Sergeant Tresbere, I told you before and I will tell you again that I have a ste
rling reputation here at Craig’s Castle and I resent your implication that I am trying to trick you into anything.” She could not quite bring herself to say “marriage,” which was proof of how ridiculous that was.

  “You misunderstood me that day, Miss Stepp. Which I would have made clear if you had listened instead of storming off as you are about to do again now.”

  “Then you accept that I am an honest, honorable woman not given to trickery?”

  “Indeed,” he said, and then spoiled it by laughing. “Except for that one flaw of sleeping in beds that are not your own.”

  “Empty beds,” she clarified, wondering if he intended another insult.

  “Aha, so you admit that you do it.”

  Caught by her own admission, Martha nodded, a tiny little nod but a confession nonetheless. “But, Sergeant, it does not harm anyone. I am only looking for the most comfortable bed in the castle. One that suits me. One that is just right.”

  “And what was it before the beds?”

  “Chairs,” she muttered.

  “And will it be the wine, next?”

  She blushed and looked away.

  “My God, you’ve started on that already.” Now he sounded more shocked than amused.

  “Well, yes.”

  The admission did not seem to appease him.

  “I do not even like the taste of wine. I had a sip when John and Ellen were married.”

  The sergeant shook his head. “You need someone more than Mrs. Belweather to keep you out of trouble.”

  “I do not need anyone and I am not in trouble.”

  “Do you not see that you would be if someone finds out and tells the housekeeper. Martha, discovery is inevitable.”

  She was embarrassed before; now she was just a little afraid. What would it take to guarantee his silence? “Are you trying to blackmail me? I would sooner lose my position.”

  “Blackmail? Who said anything about blackmail?” The sergeant looked away from her and shook his head. When he looked at her again his expression was as aghast as hers had been. “Did you think I would threaten you with exposure unless you meet my demands?” As he spoke his eyes fell to her mouth and she felt a tingle there as if he had actually touched her lips.